Assassin
by Kat-Knife
Summary: AU. In a world where Tom Riddle never became Lord Voldemort, thrives a secret society that feeds on the fears and paranoia of the magical population for its gain. The name of this secret society is Assassin, a simple and straightforward name, symbolic of the line of work that it performs. Enter Hermione Granger, its most skilled member.
1. Prologue

She carefully navigated the thick throng of rich, snooty people who mingled around her. Outwardly she smiled a bright grin to anyone that happened to glance at her face, exuding the mask of a vapid pure-blood, excited to be rubbing elbows with the billionaires of the wizarding world.

Her head swiveled in harmony with the soft, classical music that wafted from the fingers of the talented pianist seated in front of the room, her fingers tapping in rhythm against the cold stem of her wineglass. The party was in full swing and was attended by every pure-blood that was worth his or her name. She didn't belong here, most definitely not, but she wasn't here to socialize, she was here to complete her mission.

_Ah, there he is, _she noted with satisfaction, spotting her mark, Augustus Romanov, a balding man with thick piercing eyebrows and a bulbous nose. He was certainly no Romeo, but fortunately for him, he was endowed with a keen mind for business that had helped him establish a multi-million pound corporation. Unfortunately for him, the methods that he had used to fund his company had been less than savory and he had made more than one enemy in his quest for money, which was exactly the reason why she was here today.

As she leisurely made her way to him, she scrolled through the list of facts that she knew about him in her mind. He was recently divorced - his fourth wife had been caught in bed with a younger man, one that had more money - and on the prowl for another wife that he could parade around as a particularly delectable piece of arm candy.

She paused for a moment in the middle of the crowd and brought her wineglass up to her scarlet lips, draining the dregs of champagne in one swallow. Instantaneously, a pathetic looking house elf materialized at her side, wearing a stained pillowcase and holding up a tray filled to the brim with identical looking wineglasses of champagne. She looked down at the house elf silently until the creature minutely gestured to a wineglass at the corner of the tray. She nodded in thanks and picked up the wineglass, the wine sloshing over the rim as she began moving again, this time in a brisk manner.

She stopped behind Romanov and lightly tapped him on the shoulder, a coy smile in place. He turned around in surprise, his eyes widening in appreciation as he took in her appearance. Thick, brunette curls tumbled down her back; bright brown eyes slyly smiled at him; a luscious mouth painted in exquisite crimson curled up at the corners in a teasing manner. She was swathed in cerise robes that showcased unblemished bronze skin. In short, she looked like sin, tantalizingly holding a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Good evening," he said politely, regaining his composure.

"Good evening Mr. Romanov," she replied, her lips quirking as if she recognized the effect that she'd had on him.

"How do you know my name?" He asked her in puzzlement, absolutely sure that he had never seen her before. He would surely remember if he had seen someone like her before.

"Of course I know your name. Who doesn't know the name of one of the most famous men in England?" She responded in amusement, a light tint of sarcasm coating her words as she stroked his ego.

"Why thank you," he smiled an arrogant smile, obviously missing the sarcasm, "May I ask what your name is?"

"You may ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," she retorted, her eyes laughing at him as he blushed.

"I-oh-I didn't" he stammered uncharacteristically, taken aback by her bold answer.

Her twinkling laugh interrupted him and he looked down at her in astonishment as she laughed a carefree laugh, akin to the bubbles rising to the top of a champagne glass. Her mirth subsided and she smirked flirtatiously at him.

"I would like to spend some more time talking to you, perhaps in a more private setting?" She invited him, putting a suggestive arm on his elbow.

"Y-yes," he quickly answered her, his heart beating rapidly like that of a man twenty years younger than him, excited by the prospect of spending more time with this alluring stranger.

"Drink this champagne and come with me," she ordered him, handing him the glass of champagne that she held in her hand.

He swiftly downed the glass, the cold liquid sliding down his throat like a soothing balm and infusing liquid courage into his veins. He offered her a his elbow and she graciously accepted the invitation, sliding her warm arm through his. She confidently led him to a secluded balcony and nimbly slid her arm out of his grasp. She twirled around the balcony in childish glee, the cool night air ruffling her curls and sending them tumbling this way and that in abandonment. She stopped twirling a few seconds later, putting a hand to the railing as dizziness overtook her. She looked towards him, the smile on her lips dying as she asked him a silent question.

Romanov had never been more enchanted in his life. He fancied himself in love with this slip of a girl that embodied the spirit of youth.

"You're beautiful," he gasped out, the realization leaving him breathless.

"I know," she answered him, the mask slipping away to reveal the cold expression underneath.

He looked at her quizzically, startled by the sudden transformation, a tightness forming around his heart. He took a step towards her and stopped as brightly coloured spots danced around his vision, obscuring his view of her. He stumbled as dizziness overtook him and gripped the railing of the balcony to steady himself.

"Wha-" he tried to speak, but could only produce a strangled sound.

"Poison," she answered him calmly, gazing out at the kaleidoscope of city lights spread out underneath them.

"GAR-" he emitted an inarticulate sound from his rapidly closing throat and made as if to lunge towards her.

She easily sidestepped his clumsy advances and callously gazed down upon him as he fell to the marble floor and started twitching in agony as the poison rapidly ate away at his muscles. She looked away from him and breathed in deeply, enjoying the refreshing breeze. Her job was almost over and then she would make her escape.

She turned back to the now still corpse on the floor and knelt beside it. She moved her hand to his eyes, her hand pausing as she took in his accusing expression before she smoothed a gentle hand over his eyelids, closing them. She reached into her pocket and fished out two coins - one pence each - from the depths of her robes and placed them over his eyes, a silent tribute. She got off the floor and brusquely dusted off her robes, moving hand to the inside of her robes, insuring that her wand was where she had left it.

She stepped over the body of Romanov and made as if to go back into the dining room, before she abruptly stopped and looked back at the dead body. "Hermione. My name is Hermione," she softly said.

She turned on her heel and rapidly made her way through the swelling ranks of the crowd, her heels clicking in a daunting march as she escaped the scene of the crime.

She politely smiled at the house elf in the entryway and allowed him to hand her coat to her. "Thank you," she softly murmured to the stoic creature as she slipped past him and into the night.

"Welcome, Miss," the house elf whispered in her wake.

She was gone and the aroma of jasmines was the only sign that she had ever been at the party.

* * *

**A/N: This idea kind of just popped into my head today and I couldn't resist writing it down. Please tell me what you think in a review! :)**


	2. The Wonder Team

He blinked slowly and moaned in agony as pain filtered through his head. He was lying eagle spread on the covers of his bed, still wearing the robes that he had worn to the party last night.

"Ugh," he groaned, gingerly lifting himself up so that he sat up in his bed. He looked around the room with bleary eyes, noting that it was as immaculate as ever and had not been destroyed since last night.

_Pity, I should have __at least _broken some furniture last night, that would have certainly pissed of grandmother and grandfather, he thought with a grimace, _well there is always tonight and then tomorrow night and then the night after that..._

He groaned again and cupped his face in his hands, breathing deeply as his hangover washed over him. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, he blindly reached for his wand lying on the bedside table. After a few missed attempts and muttered curses, he managed to successfully grasp it. He looked up and swished it through the air lazily, summoning the potion with ease. Within a second a potion the shade of violent lavender floated into the room and zoomed into his outstretched hand.

He uncorked the potion bottle and pinched his nose as he swallowed the bitter tasting potion in one gulp. He grimaced as the taste of dead slugs invaded his taste buds. He brought his wand to his mouth and wordlessly conjured a stream of water to drip into his open mouth. He sloppily drank his fill, washing away the disgusting taste of the potion and filling his empty stomach with something other than cheap firewhiskey. When he was satiated, he stopped, his wand falling to his side as he breathed heavily, the front of his shirt damp with water that he had carelessly spilled.

"Draco!" The shrill voice of his grandmother, Rosella Malfoy, pierced the quiet of the room. "Are you awake yet?"

"Yes!" He yelled back hoarsely.

"Well then come help me in the library," came the staunch order.

"I'm coming!" He shouted back exasperatedly, tucking his wand in his robes and unsteadily swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Draco made his way around the room with shaking legs, his body still sore from the night of debauchery and revelry that he had participated in.

He limped down the hall, holding onto the walls for support and cursing himself every few seconds, _this is what happens when I listen to those two idiots that I call my friends, Harry and Ron._

The distinguished portraits on the walls, looked down at him and reprimanded him angrily as he jostled their frames as he passed by.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Ungrateful lad he is, look at his long hair!"

"He looks like a mudblood, he does, look at his clothes.

Draco paid them no mind and paused only to give a particularly rude portrait an obscene hand gesture when he passed by. After an eternity of pain, he finally heaved himself into the private library of his grandmother, breathing heavily as if he had just been chased by a Hungarian Horntail.

Rosella looked up from where she was seated in the enormous library, surrounded by a dusty collection of ancient tomes, with a displeased frown on her face. She was an elegant woman, with blonde hair tied back in an elegant bun and the haughty features befitting a wife of a Malfoy. The only thing that set her apart from any other pure-blooded woman of her stature were her warm brown eyes, which were currently eyes eyed his rumpled and sweaty appearance and huffed in irritation. "What time did you arrive at home last night?" She inquired pointedly, her lips thinning as she impatiently waited for his answer.

"At around five or six, maybe?" Draco responded with a careless shrug of his shoulders, leaning back against the door and tucking his hands nonchalantly in his trouser pockets.

"In the morning?" She asked incredulously, her blonde eyebrows disappearing into her elegant bun.

"Hmm," he nodded back uninterestedly, looking around the room with a bored expression on his face.

"Draco, this is ridiculous! You cannot galvanize around nightclubs and parties anymore. You are an adult now, seventeen years old. After this summer ends, this will be your last year at Hogwarts, you can't waste it by drinking and partying like you're doing!" She angrily lectured him, hands flapping wildly as she gesticulated to make her point, "This is all because you're associating with those two imbeciles that you call your friends, that Potter boy and that Weasley boy! What would your parents think of your behaviour?"

Instantly Draco's quicksilver eyes darkened to a stormy gray, his relaxed posture disappearing as his muscles tensed. "What do you know what my parents would think?" He shouted back with unrestrained anger, his fists involuntarily clenching at his sides. "I don't even know what my parents would think, they died when I was two years old, because of you!"

Rosella's face fell and the anger dissipated from her figure, making the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth look even more prominent, "I'm sorry Draco, I shouldn't have mentioned your parents, but it's not fair for you to blame us, your grandparents. It was your parents' choice to go to France, no one could have stopped them."

"But you and grandfather were the ones who persuaded them to go and bought the Portkey for them." Draco whispered back, the fight draining out of him as he took in his grandmother's defeated expression.

"I know, Dragon, but we couldn't have predicted the fact that their Portkey would malfunction and land them in the middle of a war zone." She replied tenderly, using his pet name to soothe his ire.

"I know, but I can't..." he trailed off, unable to articulate what he wanted to say.

"But you can't forgive us because you need someone to blame," she finished for him, looking saddened by the thought, but smiling an understanding smile at him.

For one moment, they were both quiet, their thoughts a thousand kilometers away. "There is a summer extravaganza tonight," Rosella spoke brusquely, banishing her thoughts to the land of the dead, where they belonged, "and I want you to attend."

"Tonight?" Draco made an unenthusiastic face at that, "But I have plans with Harry and Ron."

"Well, bring them along with you then," Rosella said with pained look on her face as she recalled the two hooligans that her grandson called his best friends, one with unmanageable hair and the other a Weasley, both of which were more than enough to put them in her bad graces. On top of those offenses, the two hooligans had set fire to her prized garden when they were children, which Rosella would hold aginst them until her dying day.

"Really?" Draco smiled a sunny smile at her, his bad mood forgotten, "I'll tell them."

"Whatever makes you happy, darling," she said, a smile blossoming on her face as well, "I'll have Binky give you the invitation."

Draco moved towards her and gave her a smell peck on the cheek, smiling happily at her, "Thank you, grandmother." He enthusiastically bounded out of the room, his limp forgotten as he prepared to owl his friends the good news, no more cheap alcohol for them, they would party well tonight.

* * *

Hermione rolled her shoulders and stretched her muscles in preparation for her mission. She was currently standing on the roof of a skyscraper in London, England, one that was directly adjacent to the building where her mark was attending a summer extravaganza. This was an intimate gathering of only the most ancient pure-blooded families and she would have been easily recognized if she had showed up at the party, which was the reason why she was she standing atop this building now. She was going to shoot her mark from up here, a quick and easy job, no need to get her hand's dirty or fear being caught.

She was outfitted in all black, dressed in black jeans, a long sleeved black sweater, and knee high black boots, the standard dress of a all professional assassins. Her unruly black hair had been wrestled into a somewhat manageable braid with the help of copious amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. She quickly cast a Tempus charm and checked the time, 10:54 P.M., ten more minutes until her mark appeared.

She loaded and locked her sniper rifle with precise unhurried movements and looked through the scope of the gun, pinpointing her target, Albert Edwards. She could clearly see him through the thin glass that was his only protection from his imminent death.

Her finger lightly rested on the trigger, her heart rapidly pumping oxygen to her brain, adrenaline rushing through her veins. _Click_, she squeezed the trigger and not a second later, a marked bullet embedded itself into the skull of the aristocratic pure-blood.

Pandemonium ensued inside the ballroom as Edwards slumped to the ground, blood leaking out from his torn skull. She ignored the screams and chaos and quickly and efficiently packed her equipment, dropping two one pence on the ground where she stood and apparating away, leaving death in her wake.

* * *

Draco stood near the windows that lined one wall of the lavish ballroom. He was beyond bored, Ron and Harry had abandoned him to flirt with two foreign girls, leaving him to fend for himself. For the past two hours he had been incessantly badgered by eager, man-eating, pure-blooded girls that had swarmed around him, chattering vapidly about clothes, shoes, neither of which he cared for. To escape from them, he had retreated to a quiet corner by the windows, nursing a glass of aged red wine in one hand and wearing a brooding expression on his face to ward off any potential_ friends._

He just wanted something exciting to happen, anything at all to spice up this stodgy and monotonous affair. As if in answer, Albert Edwards, a famous member of Wizengamot, fell to the ground in slow motion, the glass he held in his hand shattering as it hit the ground. Draco looked at him incredulously, frozen as he watched Edwards keel to the ground, crimson red blood, seeping out of the hole in his skull that had certainly not been there before.

People around him started screaming and running away from the now cooling corpse of Edwards in typical pure-blooded fashion, all except for three men, who rushed to Edwards side in an instant, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley.

"Blimey mate, what the hell happened?" Ron said in wonder, one hand checking for a pulse, while he looked up at his friends.

"I don't know what happened," Harry replied frustratedly, running his hands through his already messy hair.

"No pulse," Ron grimly said, his hand retreating back to his side.

"The bullet, where did it come from?" Draco asked suddenly, looking at his friends' faces in question.

"The window," Harry immediately declared, looking towards the wall of windows and pointing to a tiny hole in one of the window panes, a hole the perfect size of a bullet.

Draco rushed to the window and looked outside, nothing but darkness, except,_ there_, for one second he thought he saw a shadowy figure on the roof of the building across from him, but when he looked back, there was nothing there.

"There's no one outside," Draco shook his head and returned to his friends, who were interestedly examining something.

"What is that?" Draco asked, pointing at the tiny, bloody object in Ron's hands, before the blood drained from his face as he realized exactly what he was looking at, a bullet.

"Ron, what did you do?!" Draco yelped in disgust.

"It wasn't embedded that far into his brain and besides, look what it says," Ron said shrugging in defense.

He showed them the tiny, curly 'H' inscribed into the ingot sized bullet.

"I wonder what it stands for?" Harry inquired, a pensive expression on his face.

"I don't know, but we're going to find out," Draco replied determinedly, looking out towards the window where the bullet had come from.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, I'm simply overwhelmed by the response I got for just the first chapter! Thank you to everyone that reviewed, followed, and favorited this story, you guys all rock! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please remember to review and tell me what you think. Special thanks to I Like Your Name Better, anotherboarduser, sherry15, and Guest for reviewing. Until next time. :)  
**


	3. Paranoia

Hermione sighed as she was roused by a harsh tapping sound. She blinked sleepily as she sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and glancing around the small utilitarian room until she identified the source of the noise, a fierce looking eagle owl that was rapping a beat on her window pane.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, unsure why exactly she was being summoned this early in the morning, when the soft beams of sunlight were just beginning to illuminate her small flat. Nevertheless, she got out of bed with a wince, rubbing the knots in her back and approached the dusty window and opened it, letting the owl into the room.

The owl hooted in thanks and held out a leg which had a familiar letter attached to it. With a groan, Hermione hastily untied the letter from the owl's leg and gingerly set it down on her dresser. The owl took flight as soon as it had been released of its burden and soared out of the window that it had entered from.

Hermione watched the sun rise through the open window, a wistful expression on her face as memories assaulted her mind...

_"Isn't it beautiful, pumpkin?" Her father sighed in appreciation as the sun unfolded itself in front of them, shooting out beams of golden light that lit up the suburban landscape._

_A tiny Hermione Granger nodded her head and burrowed herself deeper into her father's side, feeling content as she smelled her father's reassuring scent of lemon, soap and fresh pine. _

_They were both nestled comfortably on the porch swing, watching the sunrise as it completed its daily, glorious ritual. _

_"Remember to always watch the sunrise, Hermione," her father advised her, a melancholy smile on his face, "it makes you appreciate the simpler things in life..."_

The scene faded away as soon as it had come, leaving nothing behind but a jaded vestige of the girl who had watched the sunrise with her father.

She turned away from the sunrise and picked up the letter, her face regaining its usual impassive mask. With steady fingers, she broke the seal on the back. The seal that bore the emblem was the standard seal of the organization, with an impression of a coin pressed into it and a dagger crossed with a sprig of nightshade in front of the coin. If one looked closely enough, they could make out the fine details of the coin, identifying it as a simple one pence.

The letter was simple and straightforward:

_Library, 7:00 A.M. _

_-SS_

Hermione refolded the letter and stuffed it back in its envelope, a grimace on her face. Her mentor was clearly not happy with her. She would certainly be subjected to a stern lecture; she just hoped that she wouldn't be suspended from missions for her continued defiance.

* * *

Hermione carefully stepped through the open door of the library, wincing as the ancient floorboards underneath her feet creaked in protest.

The figure at the window turned around as she approached and gazed at her with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Hermione, you need to be more careful," Snape said without preamble, his face looking eerie in the dim light that filtered into the room from the dusty curtains, "we don't want what happened last summer to happen again."

Hermione nodded abashedly, looking down and playing with her hands that were clasped in front of her. "I promise, I'll be more careful."

Snape sighed in exasperation at her quick answer. "We both know that you're not going to be more careful. I just wish that you weren't so reckless, leaving behind those clues at both Agustus' and Edwards' crime scene wasn't exactly an intelligent maneuver. You shouldn't have left behind the coins and the marked bullet was an exponentially foolish endeavor." Snape berated her, making sure to give her an acidic glare as he lectured her.

"I know it was...stupid of me to do so, but I can't help it. It's just my calling card, something that I leave behind so that people know that it's me." She tried to explain, her expression stubborn despite the quelling glower that was directed at her.

"These items that you leave behind will get you caught one day, Hermione, then what will happen?" He asked her, his eyebrows raising in mock question.

"Then I get caught and I die for what I believe in," Hermione replied evenly, her face unyielding.

"Promise me that you'll at least try to be less reckless," Snape ordered her, the tension leaving his stiff shoulders as he accepted the fact that he couldn't convince her to stop her foolish actions. He turned away from her and looked back out the window.

"I - I promise to be less reckless," she hesitantly said, a small smile appearing on her face as her mentor minutely nodded his head, accepting her less than stellar apology.

He gazed out at the compound for a few seconds - silently observing the students training in the heat outside - allowing silence to envelop the library in its cocoon. "I have your next assignment for you and it's going to require the utmost caution and stealth."

"What is it, sir?" She asked curiously, looking up at the back of his head with questioning eyes.

"You'll need to infiltrate the Potter Mansion and neutralize your next mark, Harry Potter."

* * *

"Toss me another one, mate," Harry ordered Draco, motioning to the cigarette packet in his lap and sighing as he watched twilight descend upon them, bringing with it fireflies and the crooning of an unseen orchestra of crickets.

Draco silently pulled out a cigarette and handed it to him, his movements robotic and his eyes unfocused, neither of them taking in the beauty that surrounded them.

They were both seated on the ancient, crumbling wall that served as the boundary between Potter Manor - the year round home of the Potters - and Wiltshire Manor - the summer residence of the Malfoys. Draco and Harry had spent the last two days like this, straddling the wall that separated the two properties and secretly smoking a cigarette or two as their bored, unseeing eyes stared blankly at mossy green trees and the teeming wildlife that surrounded them. Their new routine had developed after the event that had occurred at the summer extravaganza, two days ago. Paranoia had spread throughout the pure-blood community like the black plague and everyone had frantically retreated to their homes in unadulterated terror, soon after the news of the incident had spread. Though Harry and Draco were both of age and more than capable of defending themselves, their families had insisted that their safety was more important than their daily excursions to the pub and they had been confined to their homes like the other underage children.

Before, Draco and Harry along with Ron, would have been frequenting their local haunt,the_ Hog's Head, _at this time of the night, well on their way to achieving their goal of absolute inebriation. Now, they were both sitting listlessly on top of a wall, smoking cigarettes like muggle teenagers - how the mighty had fallen. Unfortunately, Ron had also been confined to his home, the Burrow, and had not been allowed to leave his anxious mother's sight since then and had been unable to join Draco and Harry in their new pastime.

Harry flicked his burnt out cigarette to the ground and stomped on it a couple of times before swinging himself back up onto the wall. He fixed his eyes lazily upon his silent companion and asked him, "What are you thinking?"

Draco's steel grey eyes flicked down to meet his emerald ones and then he sighed a long drawn out sigh. "I'm just thinking about Edwards and the mysterious way he died. It's baffling is what is. I mean, it wasn't a spell or curse that killed him, it was a muggle bullet. It makes you wonder, you know, if..."

"If the muggles know." Harry finished for him, his face looking grim and hard at the thought.

"It's a scary thought." Draco stated morosely.

"Hell yeah, who knows who'll be next," Harry said, looking nauseated at the thought of who the next potential victim could be.

"What I really want to know is what the 'H' inscribed in the bullet stood for. What does it mean?" Draco pondered, rubbing his lower lip with his fingers.

"It could be anything, the initial of the person who killed him, the initial of the organization that killed him, a secret calling card, who knows." Harry shrugged as he finished listing some feasible possibilities.

"You watch too many spy films," Draco grinned at him, raising a mocking eyebrow, "a secret organization, really?"

"Hey, it could be a secret muggle organization that knows all of the secrets of the wizarding world and is slowly plotting to take us all down, one by one." Harry said defensively, his eyes narrowing and his voice deepening as he animatedly described the takeover of the wizarding world by the muggles.

"Yeah right," Draco snorted at the ludicrous assumption, "and I'm a Hufflepuff."

Harry pushed him off the wall in retaliation and the conversation quickly deteriorated into a shoving match, their conversation forgotten. Little did they know that what Harry had ominously predicted held a grain of truth.

* * *

**A/N: Smoking is injurious to health and I do not advocate it in any way. ****I hope you enjoyed this chapter and it hopefully answered some questions or perhaps created some new ones. Thank you to everyone that reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! Special thanks to SRFallen, The only mary potter, Grovek26 and anotherboarduser for reviewing the last chapter! :)**


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